


Shadows Over the River (reflect back the moon)

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Learning to be Human, Loss, Supernatural Elements, letting go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: Everyone acts and talks about humanity, about being human, like it is as easy as breathing…but it is so, so hard.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Shadows Over the River (reflect back the moon)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Five Years later](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749847) by [Lilili_cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilili_cat/pseuds/Lilili_cat). 



> This...came out of left field and then I couldn't not write it. Not what I usually write, but I like it.

The first time he sees them, he is drawn from his hollow by the sound of bright laughter. He inches along, creeping through the shadows, wide eyes taking in the sight before him. There are four of them, four boys, playing and laughing, wielding sticks and throwing clods of dirt at each other like it’s some great battle they’re in and not children play acting.

He feels…something in his chest as he watches. Envy maybe, definitely longing. They look so happy, so close, ruffling each other’s hair and wrestling around. To have that warmth directed at him would be…new…different…welcome.

He shrinks back into the shadows when they come too close to his hiding spot, but none of them notice him, a shadow amongst shadows. He watches until finally, they leave, drawn back to the place of people, of wood and fire and steel, the thrum of life and energy thick. He can’t go there, not without being seen. He mourns their departure. He would have liked to watch them for longer.

~*~

He feels them return a second time weeks later and he quickly finds their clearing again. This time they have actual metal in their hands, practicing against each other. He hears words thrown back and forth… _war…Uchiha…father…_ He doesn’t understand what it means, has never left this forests, his small hidden hollow except for daily trips to the river to feel the cool water across his skin, so parched after so long away.

They quickly abandon their weapons, falling to play fighting again and he feels that warmth again, watching their closeness. One of them grips another in his arms tight, much to the other’s annoyance, demanding he stop hugging him. Cocking his head to the side, he looks down at his own limbs and brings them around himself, holding tight. It doesn’t feel like anything and he stops, not understanding the appeal.

One looks to the sky and says they need to get back and they quickly scramble to their weapons, snagging them up before rushing away. Sighing, he turns away to make a trip to the river. He feels so parched all of a sudden.

~*~

The years go by, the boys growing. Occasionally, they will return to the clearing near his hollow but more and more, they don’t come. It saddens him to be without that feeling. He reaches out, feels their sparks of life so close and so far away.

Sighing, he sinks into the river, letting water slip over his body, lets his essence diffuse into the water, moving with the currents like he always does, the water answering his call like he knows it will. This at least he can understand. This is his and he is it. He lets go and drifts.

~*~

He’s wallowing in the shallows amongst the reeds, playing with the bright flashing silver of the small fish there when he senses a familiar life he hasn’t seen in a few years. He peeks his head up out the water, keeping to the shadows of a log as he looks downstream.

There is one of the boys, grown bigger. He blinks at the strange boy with him. He doesn’t know this boy. Maybe he’ll be as much fun to watch as the other boys are. He creeps closer, trying to hear what they’re saying but he dares not get too close, least they see or sense him.

He watches the stones they skip, confused about why they feel the need to redistribute the river’s stones. The river does that on its own. It does not need help. He feels it before they see it, the disturbance in the water, the feeling of death and wrongness as it pollutes the water. Shivering, he backs away, watching the body float by.

They soon leave after seeing the body and he watches sadly as they go. He would have liked to watch for a while longer. Creeping from the shallows, he finds a stone they threw and turns it over and over; trying to guess what is so special about it.

He throws it and it plops into the water with a small splash, not even skipping as it did for them. Sometimes, he doesn’t understand people. What a strange thing to do. Shrugging, he slips back into the river and lets the current take him away for a while before he has to return to his hollow.

~*~

He wakes to the deep shadows of night and knows, without really needing to be explained, that one of the boys is gone. He senses out and feels no trace of the spark of life that was the smallest of the boys. He always reminded him of the small silver fish in the river, so playful and inquisitive, always darting to and fro.

He understands death, knows it like any other creature of this world. It is natural, balance. Things that live must die. Left too long and they stagnate like a choked creek, water filming over with scum and mildew. It is pointless to feel anything about death. Things will die. He would no more feel loss for the death of any of the creatures that moved around him than they would feel for him. Life goes on, always.

Still, a small part of him is…disappointed. The bright flashes of that life had been nice. He’ll miss watching it. Later, he feels them come to the clearing, feels the bubbling and roiling of their life, hears the heated words between them and wonders why they are angry. Death is natural.

They don’t play this time around and the brightness is mostly dimmed under their anger. It saddens him but like the water, he lets it drift away. It is simply just another thing he can’t fully understand.

~*~

He feels the second smallest one’s life cease. He’s dancing beneath a waterfall, enjoying the pounding spray when it just…stops. He blinks, completely caught off guard because he’s felt death before, but not from anything he felt any sort of connection to. Even the last boy’s death he hadn’t felt, had simply woken and known.

He flows up the river, following where he last felt the boy but the river doesn’t reach and he is reluctant to move through woods he does not know. Disappointed, he lets the current carry him back to his stretch of trees, ignoring the little flashes of silver that try to entice him to play.

~*~

He feels his approach to the clearing. He shifts from the log where he was watching a trail of ants and silently drifts towards the clearing, curious. It has been two days since the other boy, the one that felt like a babbling creek and the steadfastness of river stone, had ceased.

He peeks out from behind a tree to see the boy, the one that feels like the deepest currents of the river, sitting hunched in the clearing. He feels…heavy. He’s felt this feeling before, has seen the way people leak water from their eyes strangely.

Shifting silently around the clearing, he tries to see if this boy does it too. He’s surprised to see no water falling from his eyes. He just sits there, hands fisted, staring into space. He wonders why this one does not leak like the others, wonders if he should ask him why. But no, that would not be good. The last person who saw him tried to hurt him, afraid of him, though he doesn’t understand why.

But still, this is something new. A sudden change in what he has come to expect people to do. He inches closer, keeping to the shadows but still sees no water falling. He really wants to know.

“Why do you not leak water like others?” he finally asks softly, hand pressed to the tree next to him in case he needs to flee.

The boy jump, twisting around and he sees red eyes widen in shock as they stare at him. There isn’t anything shocking about him. Why is everyone shocked by him? It is stupid. He looks like how he should look.

“What?” comes a strangled voice.

“The wetness. You feel heavy yet no water falls from your eyes. Are you broken?” he asks, cocking his head to the side curiously, emboldened when the boy neither jumps to run away, nor pulls a weapon out that he knows he carries.

“Tears,” he answers. “Crying tears.”

Ah, a word he hasn’t heard before. “Is this _crying_ natural to everyone?” he asks. He’s never dripped water from his eyes like that, though to be fair, he’s never felt heavy like that before.

“Yes, it’s natural,” he answers, seeming over his shock and looking back with curiosity as well. Feeling a little brave, he scoots a few inches closer.

“Why do you not…cry?” he asks, tasting the new word.

“Crying won’t change anything,” he murmurs. He tilts his head, not understanding his meaning. “It won’t bring my brother back to life,” he explains.

Ah, the water and stone one. “I felt him pass. It was quick, natural,” he admits.

“That wasn’t natural,” the boy insists, a faint buzzing warmth entering his heaviness.

“Death is always natural. To say so otherwise is foolish. Everything must die eventually. The method doesn’t change anything,” he says with a shrug.

“They hunted him down, cornered him. He was scared,” he hisses softly.

“So is a rabbit when faced with a fox,” he counters. “Do you feel heavy for _them_ when they die?” he asks, intrigued. He has never spoken with a person for so long. He’s learning so much.

“No,” he admits with a mutter, pale brows furrowing. “He was my brother,” he counters.

“He is still your brother, even if he has died. No one could say otherwise,” he huffs, annoyed at this strange creature ignoring the perfectly sound words he is speaking.

“I…I guess,” he finally admits begrudgingly. Then he frowns, “Do you have siblings?”

He shakes his head, “I have no…siblings. I am alone.” He shrugs. He was alone when he was born here and he’ll remain so until he dies, as is the nature of things.

“That must be lonely,” he murmurs.

“Why? Having others around would not change who I am. Being by myself will not change me either. I simple am,” he shrugs, sitting cross-legged in front of this fascinating boy, though still sticking to the shadows.

“Do you have friends?” he asks.

He shrugs, “You are the first person I have spoken with,” he admits, picking up a twig and fiddling with it.

“Would you like to be my friend?” he asks softly and the heaviness is back.

“I have never had a friend, but I am intrigued to learn what it means,” he admits with a smile.

~*~

He learns a word, a name, from the boy and hordes it close to his chest. He has never had a name, never needed one but this boy has one. _Tobirama._ He states it with a small smile, speaks it quietly in his hollow.

The boy, Tobirama, his friend, visits whenever he can. Explains he has duties, training to do but he comes every few days, sneaking away. He brings sweets, which are strange but he loves new things. He brings bright bits of colored fabric and shiny metal. He explains writing to him, a strange concept to write down with strange, fascinating symbols, what one wants to say. That there are others who can see these symbols and know what one wants to say. He traces in the dirt to show him.

He reads to him, of strange things, strange places and he absorbs it all, craves more because he has never left his forest since he was first born here. Has never heard of these things or could even imagine them.

Tobirama seems happy for the most part, but part of him is always heavy. He asks once, why he feels heavy still. He explains how he hardly sees his brother half the time. They’re both busy with their duties and training, missions and how he always seems to disappear off somewhere whenever he goes to look for him.

He doesn’t tell him about the place at the river, where the other boy is. Perhaps he should tell him about the boy, _Hashirama_ he is called, but he feels hesitant around him. He feels like the deep shade of the trees, like the reaching roots of the forest that he knows will take and take and take without ever giving back. He can’t blame the trees for their nature, any more than they would blame him for his, but he’s wary of him.

He worries a little though. His friend is like the river that is his place, worries that this brother will be like the trees and take too much from his friend. While he can’t blame the boy for his nature, he still will keep his friend close for now.

He shows the boy his place one day, his hollow and his river. He teaches him to feel the water that is his nature too, to call it when he needs it. It doesn’t respond as quickly to Tobirama as it does to him but the grin his friend give him makes him feel warm and he likes it. He shows him how to tickle the bellies of fish as they pass by their legs, how to pluck them from the water. It is his favorite day, if he ever must choose one.

~*~

It’s been a few days since he was visited by Tobirama, his friend telling him he had one of his strange missions and wouldn’t be back for a few days. He’s disappointed but he understands. It’s happened before over the months.

Reaching out, he feels the smothering growth of the brother and the burning warmth of the other boy by the river. Ignoring them, he feels the place; the Senju Compound Tobirama called it, and feels the many bright sparks of life. There are too many to pick apart the feeling of their life but he doesn’t feel the cool depths of his friend.

He spreads out his senses, like the river in a spring flood, feels far out from his place, ignoring the other bright sparks that are people, looking for his friend and freezes. There, to the north, he feels the flickering light that is his friend. He feels like dying.

He moves without thinking, flowing up the river he has been idling in, pushing as hard as he can until he can’t go any further. He has never left his river or his wood, but for his first friend, for Tobirama, he will. He comes from the waters in a wave, weaving through trees, following the slowly fading spark of light.

He pushes harder, calling on the forest around him to help, just this once, feeling the trees respond, curling away to clear his path. He finds him collapsed on the ground.

He’s pale, skin whiter than the bellies of the fish they once tickled. Red trickles from too many openings and he knows that the red stuff, blood, must stay inside. That Tobirama won’t live without it. “Tobirama,” he murmurs a little frantically.

He feels out, sensing the wrongness in his body, the foreign feeling of death and knows this for the venom he has seen other creatures use to subdue their prey. There is no escaping death here; it is natural, right, balance.

“What must I do?” he asks, unsure. They’ve never talked about this. Never talked about death and dying since that first day. He…he feels heavy.

Red eyes open slowly, fogged by pain. “I don’t want to die,” he murmurs. He reaches for his pale hand, feeling the coldness of it.

“Death is natural,” he reminds him, but the heaviness in his chest doesn’t disappear, even at his own words.

“I don’t want to leave my brother all alone,” he admits. “He’ll be sad and he needs to be protected. Please, please protect my brother,” he asks frantically.

“I…I can’t protect him, not like I am,” he admits, shaking his head.

“You could become me,” he reminds him and he pauses, recalling that conversation. How he admitted softly that he could take life from a person or creature, could mimic it. It isn’t pleasant, and he doesn’t like doing it. It’s a natural part of him but it feels…strange.

“But you will dies,” he murmurs, shaking his head frantically.

“I’m already dying,” he says, more red blood sliding from his mouth as he coughs weakly. “Please, you’re my friend. Please protect him, don’t let him be alone,” he asks, pleads frantically.

“I…I don’t want to lose you,” he admits shamefully, because death is natural and to try to change it is foolish.

“I won’t be gone. I’ll be with you,” he murmurs, reaching up a hand to brush it under one bright eye. “Please?” he asks.

“Am I broken for not crying?” he asks softly, chest so heavy.

“Crying won’t change anything,” he murmurs with a smile.

He presses his forehead to Tobirama’s, feels the life ebbing from him slowly. “Okay,” he murmurs, “Okay.” He sits up, sees the watching red eyes and presses close once more, slots his mouth to his first friend, his _Tobirama_ and pulls.

The first trickle of life hits him hard, buzzing through his limbs. His head spins and he pulls again. Flashes of images, memories, feelings he has never felt, rush through him and he nearly stops, overwhelmed because he has never done this much, taken everything.

He keeps pulling, bottling it all. Feels the life spark, chakra he called it, spool into him, finding a place to settle. He can feel himself changing, shifting his skin and bones, feels the subtle shift in gravity as he grows.

He pulls until there is nothing but a trickle left, a guttering spark that will cease in mere seconds. He pulls back and faded red eyes look up at him with a smile. “Hello, Tobirama,” he whispers before they close and his friend, _Tobirama_ , is gone.

No, not gone. He still feels him, tucked away in his chest. He feels his cool river life spark burning through his body, settling into him like it belongs there. Memories bombard him, thoughts, ideas, has no idea how such a short life time can have so _much_. His friend was ever thinking, ever questioning, curious and excited to learn, just like he was.

Slowly, he sets him down, pulling up memories from a few years before, sees what they did for Tobirama…no, his brothers. He is Tobirama now. He must remember that. He has a name now. He will use it. He reaches for the chakra in him and, remembering a few strange gestures, _seals_ , shifts the earth, digs it deep.

Slowly, he strips the body of the boy that once was. His fingers are clumsy at first before memories slot into place of how everything works and suddenly, he knows. Eases armor, pouches, weapons off his form. He lies there, pale and nude and slowly, he lowers him down into the ground.

The same seals and the earth closes over his form. Death is natural, but still he feels heavy. It is pointless to cry. It won’t change anything. He reaches further, feels for the stones the litter the earth and pulls, bringing one forth until it rests at the head of the disturbed earth.

This is harder, earth, stone, doesn’t like him very much but he needs to do this. To…to honor his friend. Slowly, he strokes a finger over the stone and where it moves, it carves lines. Slowly, a name and a symbol are carved into the stone. _Senju Tobirama._ There, done. He sees the memories, about honoring the dead, visiting them, ensuring they never feel alone and he promises to visit as often as he can. He will make sure his friend is never alone.

It comes naturally to him to don the armor and gear of his friend. The water comes to him and cleans the blood from it until none is left. Standing there, he feels…strange but better. _Protected,_ the voice whispers _._ Ah, the armor and weapons made him feel safe from people that might try to harm him. Then he will rarely take it off.

He looks about at the empty clearing, sees the stone marker and bows. “I will return,” he promises. He feels a huff of laughter in his chest at his words and he smiles, ever so faintly.

He looks up at the trees. “Please watch over him while I am away?” he asks politely. If they hear him, they do not show it but he doesn’t wait to see I anything happens. He needs to get to the place… _home_ …and continue to protect his brother so that he will never be alone.

~*~

It is strange being human. He has never lived as one and now must do so convincingly to keep the people of the clan happy with him. He makes a few mistakes; a few eyebrows are raised in his direction before he learns to let the voice guide him over strange concepts.

He calls names he has never known before today, trains with a blade he has never wielded before and yet knows intimately the heaviness and balance of it in his palm. He calls the water just as easily as he ever did before and sees impressed faces at his control and feels faint _pride_ from the voice inside and decides he like this feeling.

His brother, Hashirama, never even notices a change, is too occupied by his new friend. He feels the heaviness from the voice at his brother’s preoccupation. If he hadn’t stepped in, how long would his brother have been unaware of his passing?

Father, _Butsuma_ , is suspicious of Hashirama’s disappearing. He orders him to follow and he pauses halfway because he knows what the boy is doing. He’s playing with the other boy, the burning boy. _Uchiha_ , the voice murmurs and memories of the enemy clan and their strange eyes fill his mind.

He doesn’t understand why they are enemies. Death is natural and to kill someone else for death is just more death. You can’t undo either and it won’t change anything. _Tell father,_ the voice insists.

But if he tells father, won’t Hashirama be in danger? He must protect him, make sure he isn’t alone. What if father thinks he’s a traitor? Traitors are killed. The voice hesitates at that, hadn’t seen that bit of logic.

_Watch for now,_ the voice relents and he nods, slipping through shadows and finds them at the river. He cocks his head, never having seen them this close or for this angle before. He feels out, sensing the shadowy undergrowth of Hashirama and the burning of the Uchiha boy. He frowns, feeling a smaller flame nearby. Someone is watching them too?

_Warn brother,_ the voice decides and he nods. It is best. He will protect him, as he should. He waits until they say goodbye, following behind until the flames are gone and then he steps closer. “Anija,” he calls and Hashirama jumps.

He frowns heavily, seeing him dressed in his armor, like he always is. He feels protected. “You followed me?” he accuses him.

“Father asked me to,” he says with a shrug.

“Did you tell him?” he asks, biting and a little bitter.

“No, that won’t change anything,” he says with another shrug. Hashirama blinks, not seeming to get what he means. _Wrong words,_ the voice sighs and he nods inwardly but it’s too late to change his words. “There was someone else there,” he decides on. There, that is the right thing to say. He is protecting his brother as he should.

“What?” Hashirama yelps, looking around.

“They left with the other boy,” he says.

“Why are you telling me if father ordered you to spy?” he asks slowly, frowning.

“Because I must protect my anija,” he says with a shrug. He likes shrugging. It conveys so much. He feels a huff of laughter from the voice.

“You’re a good otouto,” Hashirama says with a grin and pulls him into a hug. He feels fond irritation and pulls away slightly, as the memories show he would.

He feels warmth and likes this feeling even more. _So do I,_ the voice admits.

~*~

He goes to war.

He has never been to war, never killed anything and now he is expected to do just that. He knows how he should move, how to use his weapons to cause blood to spill, to take life. He can understand, a little, why the two boys’ deaths were called unfair. This kind of death is terrifying and not the natural death of the forest, of prey falling to predator.

He learns to be quick, quicker, to be the rapids of the river, flowing around his enemies, _Uchiha…Hagoromo…Fuuma…_ and so many others. It’s hard to hide the fact that he isn’t human. That when he is cut, he doesn’t actually bleed, though the pain is still there.

He hides it away, keeps people at a distance, and never lets them get close enough to realize what isn’t there. The voice constantly helps him, churns out ideas, thoughts on jutsus…seals…attacks…so many ideas and his mind is constantly swimming against the tide. He follows directions, researches and writes down theories, studies until he knows as much as the voice.

All the while, his brother speaks of peace, of making something with their enemies…a village. He feels the voice balk. It’s one thing to protect brother from father’s anger, another to speak of such treasonous things.

Wouldn’t peace mean no more dead clan, he wonders silently. _Can’t trust them,_ the voice insists. Can they trust us, he thinks and the voice pauses, not sure how to answer. A memory comes to mind, from a time before him, _if they want fights to stop, they should make an agreement with their enemy…_ the voice seems contemplative.

_Father won’t listen,_ it finally says and he nods in understanding. Father is unreasonable, like a stone before a river. He’ll be worn away eventually, he reminds the voice and it nods. If brother and the other boy, _Uchiha Madara_ , are sincere, then once they are in control, they will make peace.

Begrudgingly, the voice agrees silently.

~*~

Peace comes, eventually. It takes a long time though. Humans are strange with all the rules they demand. They want peace so badly but then put up obstacles. The voice agrees wholeheartedly. Why agree to peace if you refuse to compromise.

Still, eventually, they have to agree and the village begins to grow. He protects brother and studies the voice’s ides. Some of them are strange. Moving quicker than a river, disappearing and appearing elsewhere is fun but it leaves him feeling strange after the first time. It takes a while to adjust it before it stops feeling strange.

There is one that he balks at, at first. Death is natural, it is right and balance. To try and change that, to reverse it is wrong. But he’s been listening to the voice for so long now. _Not permanent, temporary only, just to see if it’s possible,_ and it seems reasonable. A part of him wonders if they could use it to bring him back, so he doesn’t have to keep being him and the voice doesn’t disagree.

So they work, often spending days in their lab, working through the voice’s ideas. But, it gets out eventually. Brother and Madara find them, the small cat, newly brought back, hisses at the two staring at them before they release it and it dissolves to ash and bone.

“What are you doing?” Hashirama demands, voice booming and the heat from him isn’t nice. It burns, angry and hurt and no, he doesn’t like this.

“I…” he tries, not sure what words to use. The voice is just as silent as him, unable to help in this.

“This is wrong,” he bellows and the bits off wood around them tremble in his anger and he shrinks back, fearing he will take and take from him like he always feared. That he’ll give into his nature.

“How many times have you done this?” Madara asks sharply. He feels like flames like he always does, but they feel hotter than ever. “Why would you think this is right? Are you even human under that cold mask? Are you really the demon we called you?” he demands.

It’s too much, he can’t answer them this. Because no, he’s not! He never has been and don’t they know that? Do they not understand just how hard it is to be human? To not stumble over every little strange rule and exception they make, to not feel the questioning eyes on him.

He reaches for his river, his chakra sparking and pulls himself from there, appearing and breathing heavily in the woods. He rushes, away, away from the village, toward the one place he feels safe. He comes here often, when he can.

The clearing has changed greatly over the years, the earth smoothed from his disturbing of it years before. The headstone is still there. He keeps it clean, a smaller stone there to lay offerings and incense on, though he has none this time.

The voice is still silent and he sits there, staring at the name carved there, tracing each stroke carefully, memorized years before and wonders where he…where they went wrong. He should have never messed with death. It is natural, right, balance. He faintly feels agreement.

~*~

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he feels them. He should have realized they would follow him. He can’t move from his place though. Can’t force his legs to move. He’s so tired of being human. Maybe it’s time someone knew…the truth he kept.

He feels them enter the clearing, the trees parting and he doesn’t turn. “Tobirama!” Hashirama calls out, voice tight.

He’s not Tobirama, not really. That is not his name anymore. He doesn’t answer to it.

“Answer me,” he demands, charging up and he counts the steps, waits for him to see what he is crouched before, feels the shock as his steps falter. He can feel Madara behind him, coming up and feels the shock in him as well.

“Is…is this some kind of sick joke?” Madara demands, voice cracking at the name on the stone. “Answer me, Senju.”

“Tobirama,” Hashirama whispers, confused.

He stands, can feel himself trembling now that the truth is finally out. He turns, looking at them, sees them watching him, Madara’s eyes red as they look him over. “That is not my name to use anymore,” he admits softly with a sad smile.

“What?” Hashirama asks softly.

He can’t show them, not without letting this form go and if he does, the voice will disappear. He doesn’t want to let the voice… _Tobirama…_ disappear. “You asked me if I was human. I’m not,” he answers softly, stepping closer to the headstone, crouching in front of it, tracing the name.

“What are you?” Madara growls, stepping forward menacingly and he flinches at the heat of his anger.

“I didn’t have a name…before,” he shrugs, not sure what to call himself.

“Where is Tobirama?” Hashirama demands softly, frantically.

“There,” he points to grave, “and here,” he admits, pointing to himself.

“My brother is alive, I know he is. This is wrong,” Hashirama insists.

He doesn’t know what to say, how to tell them. “Where is he?” Madara demands.

“I told you,” he yells in frustration.

“He…no, this can’t be,” Hashirama bemoans, looking at the grave. “When…,” he doesn’t finish.

“It was a few months before father…Butsuma,” he corrects, “ordered me to spy on you,” he admits softly, hands fisting.

“Did you kill him?” Madara demands over Hashirama’s soft cry of anguish.

He shakes his head, “No…no, I would never…he was my friend…my first friend,” he admits with a faint smile, feeling the warmth from Tobirama at his words.

“You’re lying,” Hashirama yells, looking nearly frantic now. “You took his form, why?”

“No…I didn’t…I mean…I…he was dying. He was so hurt, so…so tired,” he stammers out, stumbling back from Hashirama and Madara as they advance. “ _I didn’t want to!”_ he yells, stumbling back, tripping on something and falls, curling into a ball. He feels so heavy.

“What do you mean?” Hashirama demands, standing over him and he uncurls a little.

“He was dying…there was poison in him. I…I didn’t know how to save him. He was so scared and alone. He just wanted to go home so he could protect his brother, protect you. He knew you’d be all alone without him. He asked me to protect you. I couldn’t say no. I never wanted to do that to him,” he admits softly, trembling. “He was my friend.”

“Change,” Madara demands harshly. He shakes his head. “Stop wearing his face!”

“I can’t,” he whimpers.

“Change!” comes the bellow.

“I don’t want to lose him!” he cries out, frantic. He can’t lose his friend.

Hashirama crouches in front of him, frowning. “What do you mean you can’t?” he asks softly.

“If I shift, if I let this form go, he disappears. He’s here, in me. Has been for years. His voice, his thoughts, they’re all here. I can’t lose him,” he murmurs, feeling so tired.

Something warm drips onto his hand and he blinks, looking down to see a drop of water on his hand, “What,” he murmurs, reaching up, feels dampness on his cheeks. “This…why am I crying?” he asks, confused.

“Have you never cried?” Hashirama asks softly.

“Crying won’t change anything,” he says, so heavy suddenly, “It won’t bring him back,” he huffs, feels Tobirama’s warmth in his chest, comforting him. “I’m not human. Why am I crying?” he asks softly, so confused.

_You are,_ comes the voice.

“Tobirama?” Hashirama asks.

_Tell Anija I’m happy,_ Tobirama demands.

“He says he’s happy…he’s proud of what you did,” he continues, listening to the words flowing. “He…,” his voice hitches, “he can’t stay anymore. No…nonononono, why, you can’t go,” he mutters.

_You’re Tobirama now. Time to embrace being human once and for all. That means letting go as well,_ Tobirama whispers.

He looks down as his hand glows before a small glowing orb emerges from his chest. It flashes and suddenly his friend is there as he was so many years ago, smiling at them. _Bye, Anija. We’ll be waiting for you,_ he calls and fades.

His chest hurts so much, so heavy he feels like it should be caved in under the pressure. He’s crying now, great wracking sobs, clutching his chest. He doesn’t feel arms wrapping around him, holding him as Hashirama joins him, crying silently.

Silently, Madara steps away, giving them privacy.

Being human is so hard and now he is one. He’s not sure how he will keep going without Tobirama to guide him, but he’ll try.

“Good bye,” he whispers.

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired a bit from the fic Five Years Later by Lilili_Cat. Definitely should read.
> 
> The spirit/creature was a nature/water of some sort. I didn't draw from any mythological examples.
> 
> I typed this out over the course of a night shift, so it's only betaed by me and the end is a little weird. I had trouble with figuring out how to end it. Meh, I can always redo it if I feel like it.


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